


Secrets

by rampartgeneral



Series: Crash [1]
Category: Emergency!
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:37:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rampartgeneral/pseuds/rampartgeneral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy doesn't know his wife as well as he thought he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try my hand at a darker universe than what we see in the series. This is the tiniest taste of what I wanted to explore.

She was splashing furiously, sending soapy water flying everywhere.  The dishes clattered and crashed with every move she made.  Her long dark amber curls seemed to vibrate with the force of her movement.  Some clichés exist because they're true, and this was one of them: she was beautiful when she was angry.  Roy smiled wistfully at the back of her head.  "You know you can tell me anything," Roy said.

Joanne's shoulders seemed to draw up by her ears.  The water splashed higher.  The dishes clanked harder.  "Wow, that's a nice thought, but no."

"What do you mean, no?"  Roy stood behind his wife and tried to wrap his arms around her.   She wasn't a particularly tall woman.  Normally, he enjoyed being the bigger one, because it fed into his protective nature.  But there were times when she used her smaller stature against him, like when they were playing tag or some such with the kids, and she needed to dart away from him.  Or when she was angry about something or other, and she didn't want to accept his touch.  She could slip underneath his arms, duck his kisses.  She could tilt her head and make it awkward for him to kiss and nuzzle her. 

Or she could do what she was doing now at the sink.  She could stand ramrod straight, so that his arms wouldn't fall in the right places, so that when he tried to get around her waist, he got an arm full of elbows and arched back, a mouth full of thick, curly hair, and no welcome place to lay his hands.   Still, he tried.  He meant it.  She could tell him anything, anything at all, and he would do his best to make it okay, one way or another.  "Stop avoiding me," he said, laughing a little, trying to get her to lighten up.  "Tell me, what do you mean, no?"

"Just what I said, Roy," she said.  Her words were clipped, and she sprayed venom and spittle as she spoke.  Was she angry with him?  He couldn't remember what he might have done to provoke this kind of reaction in her.  "Honey.  I'm trying to work.  C'mon, gimmie some room."

Reluctantly, he let her go.  But he couldn't bring himself to stay away.  He grabbed a towel, and began to dry.  "Okay.  Okay.  But I just want you to know, whenever you're ready, you can tell me."

Another crash, this one sharper, more strident, and then Joanne began to cuss a blue streak.  "Unbelievable," she hissed at the end of her tirade.  "You wanna help me?  Fish out the rest of this stupid plate!"  She pulled out a little less than half a dinner plate, cleaved down one side, so it looked like a partially eaten pie.   "Dammit all to hell!"

Roy took the broken dish from her and set it aside.  "Hey, how about I finish the dishes?  Want some tea?"

For a minute, she looked like she might burst into tears – or flames.  Maybe both.  But she pulled herself together, ripped off her apron, stormed to the other end of the kitchen and plopped down at the table.  "No, not really.  Actually, I think I want a beer.  Or a scotch.  Or tequila.  Or-"

"I get it," Roy laughed.  "One beer, coming right up."  He grabbed her a beer from the fridge, and popped it open for her.  He set it down on the table, and touched her hand lightly.  "I love you," he said, and went back to tend to the dishes.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled.  "Be careful.  Don't cut yourself," she said.  She was silent after that, save for the tapping of her fingernails against the cold glass bottle.

Roy picked out the remains of a broken tumbler, in addition to those of the plate, before draining the sink and starting the load anew.  He wanted to ask her how she was feeling, to assure her of the depth and sincerity of his love, but he also knew that she was about ten seconds from grabbing something big and sharp from the knife block.  Instead, he concentrated on getting the dishes washed, and tried not to worry too much about her sullen mood.  This was nothing new; the clouds would clear away soon enough, even if she had to force her way through them in the early morning hours before he had to leave for work.  She'd get through it.

He was nearly done with the remaining dishes before she spoke again.  "I think-"

Roy waited, but she was silent again.  "It's okay.  Whatever you decide, it's okay."

"Whatever I decide?"

"To tell me.  Or not."  He rinsed the last item and left it in the drain to drip.  He turned to her, and took her in.  "It's okay, Joanne."  He looked at her with warmth.  The sight of her made his chest squeeze with possessive joy.  "Whatever it is, it's okay." 

She was looking at him, sizing him up, though for what, he didn't know.  But she looked afraid.  "That's a nice sentiment, Roy."

He felt like he was falling, plummeting, and he didn't know why.  "But?"

She looked down, at her bare feet.  "But that's not exactly true."

"Oh, Joanne.  I know it might feel that way right now, but it's going-"

"No.  Not that.  I mean... I can't tell you anything.  Wait, that came out wrong, I don't mean I can't tell you anything."

Roy crossed the kitchen, and crouched down in front of his burdened wife.  He took her hands, kissed one, the other, and looked up into her face.  Her beautiful, beautiful golden face.  She looked like a painting, like the Venus on the half shell.  No, prettier.  Warmer.  Joanne had a glow, a natural glow that got her dirty looks from the old folks in the neighborhood.  He'd do anything to protect his beautiful, glowing angel, if he could.  And if he couldn't, well, he'd find someone who could protect her, and he'd charge him with the task at penalty of death.   "I'm listening, honey," he said.

She smiled weakly.  She pulled her hands from his, and wrapped her arms around herself.  Her hair hung in front of her face, a thick, brambled curtain.  "I know you are.  I know."

He rubbed her leg, half expecting her to edge that away too.  But she seemed to lean into the touch.  "I wish I knew how to help you."

Her laugh was bitter.  "Help me?  If you knew what I wanted, you'd probably beat my-"  She chopped off the end of her words.

"Baby... what in the world...?"  Roy sat back on his haunches, well and truly frightened. 

Joanne took several deep breaths, and seemed to come back to herself.  "No, no.  I know you wouldn't do that.  But... I can't... I can't talk about this."

"You don't have to, I told you that, but if you change your mind-"

"Roy," she said, shaking a little.  "I've already changed my mind.  But I _can't_ , Roy, I can't tell you.  There are some things I can never ever tell anyone."

"What, have you joined the Mafia now?"

 

She laughed, as he'd intended, but she wouldn't yield.  "Roy, there are some secrets, some parts of the self that are just too damned personal to tell anyone.  You think you'd tell me anything, but you know deep in your heart that there's some stuff you'll never ever say to me, because you don't want me to love you less.  You won't tell your parents, you won't tell our kids, you won't tell your best friend."  This last part she spit out like a vile curse.  "And it doesn't matter how much we all love you, you know in your heart of hearts that if you let that one little thing about yourself slip out, you'd be branded untouchable for the rest of your days, and you'd know that none of us are looking at you the same way anymore."

Roy stared at her in horror.  "No, that's not true..."

She frowned a little, and then hung her head again.  "Probably not.  You're so simple."

He stood up, hurt.  "I know I'm not any kind of trend setter or-"

"It's a good thing," she said.  She was almost pleading.  "I wish I was good and simple like you.  You're a generous man with a clear heart.  Nothing lurking back there behind those baby blues.  You're a _fireman_  for goodness sake - you're like the posterboy for All-American Goodness."  She scrubbed at her face, and then pushed her beer towards him.  "Want some?"

"I'd better not." 

"You're angry with me."

"I'm not," he lied.

She smiled at him, a sly, knowing look.  "But Roy, you said I could tell you anything, and it would be okay.  And look at you. You're falling apart, and hating my face because I gave you a complement."  She shook her head.  "Just imagine if I told you... things.  You'd be looking for a lawyer right now."  Her face crumpled, and the tears began.

He took the beer bottle.  It was full - she hadn't touched it.  He grabbed a stock pot and poured the beer in, and then rooted around in the fridge for some meat to boil.  He found bacon and chicken and a cooked steak.  Weird, but whatever.   "Alright.  I'm a little miffed.  But it isn't because I don't like your complement.  It's because you don't trust me.  But I'll get over it.  Come here.  Find something in the cabinet we can put in this soup."

She sniffled a little bit, but she obeyed, and joined him at the stove.  One sniff of the pot, and she recoiled.  "That's nasty, Roy."

He laughed.  "Probably.  I'm gonna call Johnny.  You need a good laugh right about now.  Go on, find something to throw in the pot."  He brushed a stray coil from her forehead, and kissed the top of her head.  "I'll always love you, pretty lady."

She smiled, and began rooting around in the cabinet.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've seen The Townsend-Wendsworth Act, you probably are thinking that this woman doesn't look anything like the woman who portrays Joanne DeSoto for her five minute scene. That's intentional - while I try to stick to most of cannon in my retelling of events, there are some bits I chose to discard in the building of this alternate universe, and the entire pilot movie is one of them. I wanted to create my own set of origin stories (like so many other writers), but I wanted a truly clean slate to do so. And so, here we are, with my own envisioning of Mrs. DeSoto.


End file.
